


The water to quench my throat

by balefully



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Rimming, Spitroasting, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:30:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/pseuds/balefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Harry have an arrangement, but Nick isn't prepared for what he finds when he finally manages to visit Harry on tour. Luckily, sometimes three's company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The water to quench my throat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hindsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hindsight/gifts).



> Written for this prompt: _Nick and Harry have an agreement that Harry can hook up with Niall during tours. When Nick visits Harry on tour and sees them together though, UNEXPECTED FEELINGS AND COMPLICATIONS. Can go two ways: a) angsty path, Nick can't deal with it or b) threesome path, Nick figures out he wants Niall, too._
> 
> I think it's pretty clear I went with way b ;) I hope this fits the bill! Thanks so much to B and A for the endless support and help!

Nick hasn't ever been on tour with Harry before. Nick hasn't even been to one of Harry's shows without the excuse of a gaggle of children needing chaperoning, so he feels weirdly raw and exposed taking a car to the Staples Center in the middle of the day, chaperoning bugger all except a large vodka soda held between his thighs on the leather seat in a Waterford crystal glass. A BBC-funded cab to Broadcasting House, this is not.

He's listening to his travel playlist on his phone, and it's a struggle not to text Harry and tell him he's on his way, have a bit of a laugh to help loosen him up. He smells like an aeroplane, hair wilted, but he wore an outfit that won't crease and that has lots of layers, so at least he's avoiding a full-on _you-okay-hun_ situation. He checks work emails and his WhatsApp groups instead, distracting himself.

Harry loves surprises, and as practical as he and Nick pride themselves on being in their relationship, he loves romance, too. Dozens of candles, Chris Isaak playing softly during snogging sessions, romcoms, sappy declarations of love, all of it. Nick always used to come out in a rash at the first mention of anything approaching romance, but Harry somehow makes it tolerable—even pleasant, if he's honest. And just because they're head over heels doesn't mean they have to do everything by the book.

Harry's away for months at a time, and even when he isn't, it's not always the easiest to find ways to be together. That's where their practicality comes in—Nick sleeps with other blokes when Harry's not around, mates usually, and he knows Harry finds trustworthy people on tour to get his rocks off with, as well. The rules are loose. Nick doesn't really care much for repeats, but Harry likes to stick with the same few people. Like little Niall Horan, the cheeky Irish one—wouldn't Finchy be interested to know _that_. Not that Nick would tell him.

The car pushes through concert-day traffic and finally pulls up to the artists' entrance around back. Nick climbs out with his Louis Vuitton weekender slung over his shoulder, Illesteva sunnies perched on his nose like a pop star. "Thanks," he says to the driver. "First class bar you've got back there. Felt like Beyonce."

The driver, a kindly older gentleman, smiles. "What, no 'roll up the partition, please'?" he says.

Nick laughs and gives him a wave. "If I'd known I could've asked, I would've." The sky is clear blue, sun warming his skin. There are high wooden fences surrounding this side of the building, but Nick can still hear the crowds milling around, the girls already queuing for the concert, the people just hoping to get a glimpse of Harry and the others.

Inside he's meant to be meeting with Lauren, something approximating a tour manager or hospitality maven or whatever they have to entertain and control people like Nick. He flashes his pass to the security at the doors before making his way to the soundboard where he's meant to find her. "Hi, Nick!" she says, cheery and American, slick brown hair in a high ponytail that swings when she talks. "The boys finished sound check a while ago. Dressing rooms are down that hallway to the left. H is probably in hair and makeup with Lou and Lottie, but you can have a look around."

"Thanks, love," Nick says. "Maybe I'll have a go in the chair myself. God knows I need it after that flight." He makes a defeated gesture in the general direction of his head.

Lauren laughs and pats him tenderly on the arm. "Hush, you're gorgeous. Go on, now. If you need anything, holler, but that pass should get you anywhere you need to get tonight."

The corridors are long and confusing, but Nick stays to the left and follows the little printer-paper signs to the hair and makeup room. "Louise!" he shouts, joyful, when he sees Lou's unmistakable coif bent over one of the chairs. Lou looks up, curious, and grins straight away when her eyes meet Nick's.

"Grim! What a surprise!" she says. "You look a mess." Her eyes are warm.

"You always know how to make me feel special," Nick says, and drops his bag by the sofa. He swans over to her and whoever it is getting her hair fussed with—it's not anyone Nick knows, some cute girl or other from Lou's entourage, he imagines.

"You looking for Haz?" Lou asks.

"Of course not," he answers, then turns to the girl in the chair. "I'm here for our darling Lou," Nick says to her, leaning his bum against the counter strewn with Fudge Urban products.

"He's probably in one of the dressing rooms meditating," Lou says, rolling her eyes. "Yoga, whatever. He's a caricature of himself, y'know."

"You wouldn't have him any other way," Nick says, and puts on his patented Harry Styles slow-drawl voice. "Ohh, me hair's so long, Lou. Don't cut it, Lou, it's how I get me powers of seduction."

"Take the keys," Lou says, trying to shut him up. She nods her head towards the little keychain next to the blow-dryer. It has four little keys on it. "If he's passed out asleep on the couch you'll never get in otherwise."

"Don't suppose you could have a go at my mess of a quiff before I subject anyone else to it?" Nick asks, carding his fingers through its sad remains.

"Harry's not going to notice or care," says Lou pointedly. "I'm busy?"

"Please?" Nick begs, giving her a smooth pout, and she scoffs, dropping her hands to her sides in exasperation. "You don't mind do you, love?" he asks the girl. She shakes her head, smiling.

"Fine. Get your arse in the other chair. Rosie's almost done anyway."

Nick's feeling much more himself after twenty-ish minutes of Lou's primping, and he pockets the keys with a little jingle and heads down the hall, bag slung back over his shoulder. There's more security outside the dressing rooms, but he waves and shoots them a winning smile with a lift of his pass. He knocks on the first door, and someone shouts, "It's open!" Sure enough, it's not locked, so peeks his head in.

There's a pinball machine and soft black draping around all the walls, low inviting lighting, and a large black leather couch in the middle of the carpet. A ginger lad and what look like two burly roadies are gathered around some other old arcade game with bottles of Lagunitas. None of them gives him more than a cursory glance, so he shuts the door again softly and tries the next one.

He knocks, and there isn't an answer. "Hello?" he calls through the door, drawing it out, silly. He could swear he hears Harry inside. Possibly talking in his sleep, which he tends to do at times. Nick fumbles with the keys but manages to unlock the door, pushing it open and squinting in the low light.

Harry's in this dressing room, all right. He's half naked on the couch, perched on his knees, facing the opposite arm of the sofa and bent over someone else, hand in the middle of their chest. It appears to be Niall, if his pale skin and blond hair and faint muttering ( _fucking Christ_ , it sounds like) are anything to go by.

Niall turns to look at Nick—he's on his back, splayed across the length of the couch, eyes wide and confused. "Uh," he says, knobbly knees snapping together.

"Oh," says Harry, sitting back on his heels, hand cupped over his dick, pants shoved down awkwardly below it. "Nick!" He's grinning, big and bright, and Nick's heart beats painfully in his chest. "You're here!"

"Surprise?" Nick says awkwardly. "Lou said you might be doing yoga in here. She forgot to mention it was tantric." He laughs, face heating, and starts to sling his bag to the floor before thinking better of it, ending up with an awkward abortive arm flap and the thump of leather hitting against his thigh.

"Just a bit of pre-show—tension release," Niall says, sounding a bit choked. "I'm—that's—" He laughs, and it sounds nervous.

"It's fine," Nick says, tilting back out the door towards the hall. "Shall I leave you to it then?" He feels half-frantic and he's not sure why, Niall's pale skin practically glowing in just the light seeping in around Nick's body. It should be fine; he's known about this and it never bothered him. It just sits weirdly in his stomach now, seeing Harry like that with someone else. When Harry's crouched over him instead, the heavy weight of his cock rubs against Nick's belly and the flies of his jeans, and the promise of it inside him makes Nick swallow dry and tight and so in love.

Harry peers at him from the dimness with bright eyes. "D'you want to? I was thinking maybe you ought to come in. As it were." He raises his eyebrows and Niall's laugh turns into a cough. "Three's company, right? If you're not too tired after the flight and everything—are you tired? Was the trip okay?" He gets bogged down in the ramble, and Nick smiles fondly.

"Flight was fine, and I'm not really tired, thank you, love. Just meant to pop in to surprise you—I have some meetings in town, moved some things so I could maybe stick around a bit, if you like." He's overly aware of Niall on the couch watching them quietly.

"Of course I'd like," Harry says, shuffling a hand through his hair. One of his pecs twitches, and Nick's not sure it isn't just for effect. "No reason the sticking can't start now, I say." He looks down at Niall, that wolfish glint in his eye, no doubt. "What do you say, Niall?"

"I've always liked Grimmy," Niall says, and it sounds knowing. "And you."

"Don't we all," says Harry.

Nick isn't sure what's happening, really, but far be it from him to run out on an unfolding situation that promises to be as interesting as this one. He calls on the vodka soda from earlier to give him strength and steps in, closing the door behind himself, finally letting his bag drop. "You are a bit of a slag, Styles," Nick says, tinged with affection.

"All the best pop stars are, that's what you're always telling me," Harry says, holding a hand out. "Niall's one of the best pop stars, too, so I think we're all set." He rocks his hips, and Niall gasps. "You didn't answer my question, Niall," Harry says, mock-stern, brow furrowed. "What if Nick had a go? Yea or nay?"

"Yea?" Niall says, looking at Nick with a contrite smile. Nick knows that look well—the implicit apology for Harry Styles being Harry Styles. His breath stutters a bit, and Nick notices his chest hair for the first time. He likes Niall a lot, has always been fairly confident Niall felt the same, their general demeanors and circles of friends being what they are. He may have had his fair share of naughty thoughts, considering what he knew Harry was up to when he was away. This, though—this is next level.

"Now, Nick, I know Niall's not really the Diesel model type—"

"Hey!" Niall says, laughing and indignant.

"But he's very eager and very bendy and _loves_ cock. Adores it. Wants it in him any way he can get it." Nick takes a sharp breath in, imagines Niall's pink cheeks pushed out on the girth of Harry's dick, imagines him folded up and pried open on Nick's cock. Both at once. Harry looks between Nick and Niall. "All in favour say 'aye'."

"Aye?" says Nick, smiling though his palms are sweaty. _#YOLO_ , he thinks. Drake would be proud.

"The ayes have it," Harry says, sounding smug. "The yea-and-ayes." He shakes his hair out and tucks it back into place, free hand still stretched out towards Nick. Nick makes sure the door is locked behind him when he comes closer to clasp it, looking into Harry's eyes searchingly. "Anyone can bow out at any time," Harry says, suddenly somber. "But I think everyone will find the experience quite pleasant," he adds, prim and grinning.

Niall rubs at Harry's thighs, seemingly at ease. He's partial to mucking about with couples, or so Nick has heard, so this is probably business as usual for him. "You'd think you'd planned this," he says, skeptical but fond.

"I swear I didn't. Just a happy accident." Harry stands up, tucking himself back into his pants—he's still hard, and Nick's mouth waters just looking at the way his cock stretches out the cotton. Niall wriggles on the couch, and Nick doesn't blame him. "Nick, why don't you come over here and get Niall out of his jeans? Not really practical for all of us to get our kits off, but he's used to running around in his pants."

Nick sinks down onto one knee on the couch, looking down at Niall. He's peering up at Nick with wide eyes, flushed all the way down his neck into the collar of his white t-shirt, mouth slack and lips pink and spit-slick. His hair is soft and messy. He looks small, wrists skinny and delicate, but the swell of his biceps peeks out of his rolled-up sleeves and there's a ripple of wiry muscle wrapping around his ribs to his back, his shirt stretched over a strong torso. "Hiya," Nick says.

Niall lifts his bum up as if on command, and Nick slides his undone jeans down his hips for him. He fumbles a bit getting the skinny cuffs over Niall's feet, but together with a bit of Niall's shimmying and embarrassed laughter, they get him stripped down to just his plain white pants. He's hard, too, prick pushing at the slit of his boxer-briefs. Nick peels down his waistband to see it, smiling when it springs out, pink and pretty and proportional for a little lad like Niall, barely a handful for Nick.

"Cute, right?" Harry says, and Niall reaches out to smack at him.

"Oi!" Niall says, scowling, but Harry's right, it is cute. Nick's heard about Niall's dick before, of course. Harry loves to talk Nick off on Facetime with dirty tour bus stories. It's different—and far better—seeing it in person. Nick raises his eyebrows— _should I?_ —and Harry nods, practically giddy. Nick leans down to suck Niall's cock into his mouth, pressing his lips to it first, breathing in through his nose. Niall smells like a shower, like the clean cotton of his pants, and the slight sour tang of skin and dick.

"Freshly washed," Nick murmurs against Niall's thigh. "Well done, Horan."

"It's _Hore_ -un," Niall says, breathless.

Nick has always said it Hore- _an_ , and Harry has never once corrected him. He laughs it off, shakes his head, waves a hand. "Noted."

He doesn't get very far before Harry makes tutting noises and takes it upon himself to rearrange the party. He and Niall shuffle around, sorting out who goes where, until Niall ends up sucking Harry off, Nick lined up behind them. The eventual porn-inspired position Harry has in mind is obvious, and Nick's hardly one to complain.

Harry looks lovely perched on the arm of the sofa, back against the draped walls of the dressing room. His hair is lush and curling around his face, eyes trained on Niall, big hands cupping Niall's jaw and the back of his neck. One leg is propped up on the cushion of the couch next to Niall's arm. Niall's hand is wrapped around Harry's ankle, thumb with bitten-raw cuticles pressed into the D of "Dance". Harry's other leg is hooked over the back of the couch, heel bumping sporadically against the leather.

The crotch of Harry's jeans is pulled tight under where his dick is sliding fat and wet down Niall's throat. Niall's lips stretch around it, pink and obscene. He's gagging a bit, choking even though Harry's clearly trying to show restraint, his hips shivering with the effort it takes not to just shove into the soft heat of Niall's mouth. Niall works his head and neck, shallow but thorough, trying to suck down more with every move, struggling. It's gorgeous to watch, and Nick's hard already. The little noises Niall makes and the strain of his body that Nick can feel wherever their skin touches just adds to the heavy atmosphere.

Nick has a grip on Niall's arse, two perfect little handfuls, round and pert and smooth. "Who knew you were hiding this under those tiny jeans," Nick says smiling as he pulls Niall's cheeks apart, appraising. Niall shudders under him. 

"Everyone," Harry says, voice fond but teasing. Nick looks up at him and Harry's got that spacey look in his eyes, cheeks pink and temples damp. "He got that bum out on national television. Gives it a smack all the time just 'cause it's there. He loves you looking at it, I can tell."

"Don't embarrass him," Nick says, pressing a thumb to Niall's pink hole as Niall mewls, probably more embarrassed by that than anything. "We're just getting started." Niall's thighs are threatening to pull together, but Nick keeps him spread open. He pushes just the tip of his thumb in, reveling in the choked inhale Niall takes through his nose, the slurpy noises he makes around Harry's cock. 

"He likes it. Don't you, Niall?" Harry lifts Niall's chin up, pulling away gradually to let the length of his dick slide out of Niall's mouth, slow and wet and dirty. It makes a slimy pop at the end, bobbing under its own considerable weight, still rubbing slick on Niall's used lips. "You like Nick thinking you've got a cute arse? Maybe he'll eat it for you if you're very good."

"Yeah," Niall says, hoarse but smiling. He can't hold the smile long, either because his mouth is already tired or he wants to conserve muscle strength in his cheeks. He hides his face against Harry's thigh instead, but he manages, "Christ, I can be very good." He bows the small of his back and pushes his arse up against Nick's thumb, taking him in farther even though he's dry. 

"Fuck," Nick says, meeting Harry's eyes over the pale line of Niall's body. "So you can. I like that." He leans in, tip of his tongue tracing against the curve of Niall's arse. Niall's skin is warm and smooth, tastes just a little bit tangy. Nick teases circles around Niall's hole, twisting his thumb gently, getting him wet and ready. "Okay?" he asks.

Niall only groans a reply, Harry's cock filling his throat again. "He says yes," Harry murmurs.

Nick slides his tongue into Niall's arse, thumb still holding him open. He kisses messily at his rim, the hot skin pink with friction, making wet noises not unlike the noises Niall's making with Harry's dick heavy in his mouth. 

Niall's hole tastes soapy, and Nick keeps eating at it with pursed lips and strong tongue until it tastes of his own spit instead. When he presses in two fingers they sink deeper with only a bit of pressure, Niall looser around them. Nick is mesmerised by how he opens to take them in, Niall's skin shiny-slick and dark pink fading to the stark pale of his arse cheeks, hole clenching around Nick when he curls his fingers, rubbing at Niall's insides with his knuckles and fingertips. Having such long fingers is particularly good for some things.

Niall's thighs slide farther apart on the couch cushions, and he raises himself up on his arms so his head can hang down between his shoulders while he sucks Harry's cock, a low, hungry noise coming from him as he rocks back against Nick's fingers. "Give him more," Harry says, sounding half-awed, eyes wide and green and fixed intently on Nick.

Nick pushes a third finger into Niall, spitting onto where he's working inside Niall's arse as he does, keeping it slick, watching the lewd glob of it spread and disappear inside him. It's uncomfortable at first, Nick's fingers pressing in when Niall's so tight, but he twists his wrist and works them deeper, Niall shivering under him and his heartbeat palpable in the tight skin of his hole, and it gets easier.

"Do it," Harry says, voice as thick and heavy as the throb of Nick's cock. "Fuck him. Niall, d'you want Nick to fuck you now?" Niall makes a desperate noise, half moan and half choking splutter. Harry's watching him intently as he tries to nod, forcing Harry's cock farther down his throat as he does, messy and mindlessly slutty. 

"Sounds like a resounding yes," Nick says, breathless, and gets his dick out of his jeans with much less grace than he'd've liked, still awed by Niall's voracity. He doesn't get naked, just pushes everything down like it's about to be a quick handjob in a loo. Instead he rolls on a condom and slicks on some lube from a packet, shoving into Niall Horan on a leather couch in a dressing room at the Staples Center while Harry spitroasts him from the other side.

He loses the ability to reflect on the moment as he watches Niall's perfect arse taking him in, spread wide and pried open around him and a slow, sinking pull despite how well Nick prepped him. "God, that's good, love," Nick breathes, feeling it everywhere, hands tight enough around Niall's hips to press white fingerprints into his pink skin. He runs his palms up Niall's belly and chest from behind, pushes through his chest hair and scrapes gently across his nipples. Niall's mouth is still full of Harry's dick, and Nick rocks his hips in time with the pace of the blowjob, pushing in when Harry pulls out, pulling out when Harry pushes in, so Niall will feel it from his lips to his arsehole, whole body wrung through. He skips a beat on purpose then, pushes in when Harry pushes in without any warning, Niall crammed with dick from both ends at the same time. Niall makes a wrecked noise, eyes shut tight and tearing up at the corners, just visible over his shoulder.

"Nick," Harry says, barely audible, but his hands come up to Nick's shoulders over the bend of Niall's body and his eyes go glassy before he shuts them, his stomach muscles clenching like he's about to lose it. "Niall—"

Niall just groans, pulling off enough to nurse at the fat head of Harry's dick as he comes, the twitch of it staid between the tight suck of Niall's lips.

Nick picks up speed, fucking Niall hard through Harry's orgasm, jarring his slim body enough that Harry's reddened cock falls out of his mouth, awkwardly softening with strings of jizz and spit snapping back over Niall's chin. Harry doesn't care at all, just sits back and idly pulls at himself, rubbing at his oversensitive prick with his mouth half-open, dazed and satisfied and sexy as anything.

"Pound him," Harry drawls, sex-slow but eyes still wide and fascinated as Nick gets good leverage on the sofa and manages to haul Niall back into his lap, arse to thighs, fully seating inside him. There's lube oozing out of his hole, and he's making hiccupping sobs as Nick gets up the strength to bounce Niall on his lap. He's just about to coordinate getting a hand on Niall's smeary, neglected cock when Niall gasps and groans, teeth gritting together and head thrown back on Nick's shoulder. "Christ, oh fucking—" he whines, hands clenching tight around Nick's shoulder and hip, no one touching Niall's dick at all. He comes all over himself, splats of it across his own thighs and chest, dick flexing as he shoots, hips pushing up into nothing and back onto Nick's cock, thighs shivering with strain.

Nick shushes him through it, strokes at his sweaty sides, and Harry has his big hands on Niall's thighs, finally gets one around his cock to wank it gently through the last of the aftershocks, loose and coaxing. "You're alright," Nick says, and Harry nods at him meaningfully. Nick kisses Niall's slack mouth, the angle a little bit awkward, but Niall leans into it, so Nick holds him tighter and tries not to fuck up into him, his arse still tight and hot and clenching invitingly with the aftershocks of coming.

"Pull out," Harry says, making a particularly graphic gesture. 

Niall makes a displeased noise as Nick unseats him but he goes where he's placed, Harry's fingers spread around Niall's arsehole, feeling the slide of Nick's still-aching cock. He strips the condom off Nick and Nick starts wanking over Niall's prone body, looking down into his tired, fucked-out face, serene and oddly sweet in the aftermath. "Please," Niall says, eyes following where Nick's cock is jerking above him.

He comes quickly, then, and it feels overwhelming and public with the two of them watching him—it's one of the hottest things he's ever done. It pulls him practically inside out with the force of it, all the way from his balls up his spine and back again, all his muscles thrumming. He presses his lips closed hard so he won't shout in the dressing room, making a grunting sort of groan instead, watching the wads of it slip over Niall's skin, catching in his chest hair and his treasure trail. "Oh yeah," Harry says, and it should be funny, but it isn't, it just catches deep down in Nick's chest, makes him feel good and satisfied and proud of all of them.

It's a long while before any of them can move to get cleaned up, but somehow the show manages to start on time.

*

Things feel strange after they've all left the dressing room. Nick watches the show from a box that night, standing next to Julian Bunetta and sipping at a watery-tasting lager in a Solo cup, his body still loose and warm from sex. Harry and Niall are both wonderful, running around the stage and generally being idiots in the way that has become their job, somehow still radiating genuine joy though by all rights they should be passed out asleep.

Nick can't help but feel so warmly towards Niall—not that he didn't before, but now there's more substance to his quick laugh and nimble fingers. It stirs up something in Nick's chest, making him feel softer. Watching Niall's body move even in the exaggerated enthusiasm of the show routine recalls what it was like to have Niall under him, thighs straining to spread farther apart, throat working and mewling sighs pressed against Harry's belly as Niall flexed his hips into Nick's thrusts, desperate to take more of him.

He's still thinking fondly about what a slut Niall is when the show is over, tucked into the back of yet another Town Car waiting for Harry to meet him for the drive to his house in Beverly Hills. Harry ducks in with a gusty sigh, smelling like the same dressing room soap Niall smelled of earlier, eyes bright when he glances over at Nick. "Was it okay?" he asks, and Nick isn't sure if he means the show or the _pre-show_. He'd guess both by the shy grin on Harry's face. There are tendrils of damp hair curling around his face, and he looks so lovely it hurts.

"Everything was perfect," Nick says, and gives Harry's hand a quick squeeze.

*

Nick wakes up the next morning without a clue where he is, discombobulated for one borderline terrifying moment before he remembers LA and Harry and yesterday in the dressing room. "Ugh," he groans, mashing at the screen of his phone before he realizes it's Harry's alarm going off, not his own. "Why on Earth have you got your alarm on," Nick grumbles, curling back around his pillow.

Harry stirs but doesn't make any noise until Nick thumps him soundly on the back. "I don't care if you sleep but you've got to hit snooze or I'll go mental," he says. He's warm and his mouth is sleep-sour and he feels rested in his bones even though he'd really rather not be awake yet. 

Sleeping in a nice bed with Harry always sets him to rights in a way not much else does; it refreshes and centers him, makes him almost giddy for the whole morning afterwards. Gives him a Friday feeling even on a dreary Tuesday.

It's not a dreary Tuesday in LA. There's bright golden sunlight streaming in through the slats of Harry's Sumatra blinds, and everything smells like warmth and green things and a little bit tangy, probably from the saltwater pool out in the garden. He keeps poking the lump of Harry on the other side of the bed until Harry makes a loud, irritated noise. "Fine!" he finally says, voice thick with sleep as he sits up. "Fine, I'm up." The duvet slips down his body. "Sorry about the alarm, that was a bit shit of me."

"What're you getting up for?" Nick asks, pulling the extra duvet to his own side of the bed, shoving his face in it and taking a deep, shameless breath because it smells like a lovely mix of fresh linen and Harry.

"Have to see Jeff today, he and Glenne are looking for a new place in Studio City."

"Mm. I better stay clear, then, shall I?"

Harry shrugs, looking over his shoulder at Nick with a coy little hunch of his back. "You could come if you like, I just thought it might—"

"Turn into a bit of a mess," Nick says, nodding. "That's alright, I've got things I need to do anyway."

"Meetings are tomorrow, right?" Harry leans in to nuzzle at Nick's chin, the rough line of his jaw. He kneads a bit at Nick's shoulder, and it feels brilliant.

"Yeah—need to get myself ready today."

"Always be prepared," Harry says, flopping backwards onto the mattress, gloriously naked. Nick lets himself look for a long moment.

"What a Boy Scout." Harry grabs his dick and sticks his tongue out to demonstrate, Nick assumes, how much of a Boy Scout he is.

Harry's out the door in about an hour, only slightly late because of an impromptu makeout session next to his fancy espresso machine in the kitchen. He's wearing one of the shirts Nick brought with him for some indecipherably Harry reason. Nick has a look at the rack of lent clothes in one of the guest rooms and picks a blousy Saint Laurent number for himself to pay him back.

He gets almost all of his work done on his laptop in the shade of a vine-thick trellis on Harry's patio, and it's not even two in the afternoon yet. Harry's not due back for ages. His phone buzzes just as he's about to give Kelly and Remi a text. It's a number he doesn't recognise.

 _Grimmy , Got plans today ? this Is Niall!_ the text says, along with a blushing smiley emoji.

 _Working on my impressive tan, hun._ Nick puts a sun emoji and the little box that says COOL.

 _come to Simons' house , there's a label party or bbq or whatever they're callin it._ He punctuates with a pint emoji, of course, and a hamburger. _he's your bezzie mate now righ ?? Flack's here too !!_ Nick laughs, not sure if he should be charmed or offended that Simon didn't invite him himself.

 _Thanks for the invite, little Niall. Doooon't mind if I do._ Bikini and fruity cocktail emojis. He's still grinning, weirdly excited. He changes tops twice before leaving, thoughts lingering on Niall and what it feels like for him when he's getting off with Harry. If it overwhelms him sometimes like it always used to for Nick back when he thought what they had was casual, too.

He shows up at Simon's sun-soaked mansion in one of Harry's less-used cars an hour later. It's a Porsche, though Nick couldn't begin to peg which one and whether that matters. _Thank god for Google Maps!_ he texts to Harry by way of the HUNS WhatsApp group. He adds a globe emoji for context while parking haphazardly on Simon's sweeping driveway. His bracelets jangle satisfyingly.

Everyone's out back, gathered around a sparkling pool and a lavish sideboard filled with hunting-lunch-inspired food no one's eating. Everything smells like summer—chlorine, charcoal, the sweet green smell of Californian landscaping. The bar is far more populated than the grilling area. Niall's deep in conversation with what looks like a bartender, Khloe Kardashian, and Alex off Alex and Sierra. "Hi," Nick says, giving the bartender a significant look while kissing Khloe on both cheeks. "Lager, whatever's on tap." Because of course Simon Cowell has artisan beer on tap at his poolside bar.

"You made it!" Niall says, holding his hand out to shake but then pulling Nick in for a solid two-armed hug once he’s grabbed it. Niall's fingers are cool and dry, considering the heat, and Nick holds on when they're hugging, giving Niall's slight frame a little squeeze before they part. 

"Couldn't miss a sun-soaked soirée of famouses," he says, grinning. "Need fodder for the radio, after all. Can't just come back from America having only sat inside watching _Empire_ all week like last time, there'll be a revolt."

"Have Harry take some more pap shots of me and sell them to Heat, how 'bout," Niall says. "Then you can talk about how you were there. Khloe can be in these ones too, that'll make them double valuable."

"Triple, at least," Khloe says with a charming laugh. She was always Nick's favourite.

Nick nurses his beer for a bit, pleased to exchange stories with Khloe, tickled by Niall's quick comebacks and the absent way he touches Nick, or leans into him when he's laughing and wobbling on his feet. Khloe and Alex drift away eventually, and Nick and Niall are leaning with their elbows on the bar trying to remember the progression of X-Factor judges, taking shots as penalties when they fuck up. Nick's nose is fuzzy and he can't feel his cheeks very well, which is always a good sign. He hasn't been properly sloshed in a month probably—it's time.

"I'm roasting," Niall says—he's definitely pink, but Nick assumed it was the alcohol. "I'm gonna head inside for a bit."

Nick stays outside for a moment, milling around and chitchatting, but soon the sun glare is getting to him even through his shades and the conversations feel stale and weird. He heads inside without really knowing where he's going, bumbling along and deciding he'll tell anyone who asks he's looking for the toilet. It feels like a pool house or some other sort of guest house, but the furniture is still lush, the wood dark and cool.

Niall's on his phone in a corner of what seems to be a sitting room, slumped in a vaguely comfortable looking black leather club chair with a fresh whisky in one hand and an empanada balancing on one knee. "Urgent business?" Nick asks, grinning and pulling up the nearest chair to sit closer to Niall, their knees almost bumping in identical skinny jeans.

"Got a snap off Harry," Niall says, looking up. He's a bit less pink now, but his eyes are shining like they're still reflecting the sun. He's got a softness about him and a deliberate quality to his movements.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" Nick says, laughing a little through his nose.

"Maybe a bit," Niall says. He sounds pleased and relaxed, not at all embarrassed. "I'm glad you came, Grimmy!" He knocks his knee gently against Nick's.

"Mm," Nick says, sipping at his own drink, belly warm and nice. "What's our lad Harry say?" He peers over the arm of Niall's chair, trying to see the screen of his phone. Niall smells subtly of Hugo Boss and hair gel, clean even though he was sweating outside.

"Just sent along some pics of the house he's been looking at," Niall says, and his smile sits strangely on his face all of a sudden.

Nick makes a noncommittal noise and sits back in his chair. "Not much for house-hunting, are you?"

"Got my bachelor pad." Niall shrugs and laughs, overloud. "That's pretty much all I'll need for the rest of me life, so. No reason to shake it up."

Nick nods slowly, pressing his lips together, tingles buzzing through them. He takes a long look at Niall, at his fidgety hands and knobbly knees. He feels soft in his chest. "Not ever planning on settling down, then? No big family house in the country, no dog, no two-point-five babies?" He's needling, but it seems important.

Niall laughs again. Nick never really noticed before how often Niall uses a laugh as the beginning of a sentence. "Don't think it's in the cards for me, man. When this—you know. When tour's over and everyone moves on, I'll just be back to the same old thing. Playing golf, having a pint with the lads. That's okay, though." He shrugs, looking down at his lap, and there's a gentle crease between his brows. "It's good—touring. The way it is on the road, like this. I miss it so much when I'm at home, don't want to start up anything new. Guess I should probably be better about—things. I just can't be."

Nick rolls his eyes, not unkindly. "You're a mere child, little Niall. You've got about a thousand years to sort it out. I'm an ancient nana compared to you and even I don't have it sorted out."

"Don't you, though?" asks Niall, suddenly sharp-eyed. 

Nick's stomach clenches, and he tips on the edge of panic realising that sounded like a blithe dismissal of Harry. "Well," he starts, steepling his fingers together and uncrossing and recrossing his legs. "Alright, suppose I sort of do. But most people don't know that, and I hardly act like I have, and also it took me a bloody long time to figure it out and grow up about it." He laughs, still surprised, sometimes, to think that he's got something with Harry that finally feels real. "The general radio-listening public wouldn't think I've got it sorted out, you know. The details aren't exactly what most people would understand."

"I'd kill for what you've got, though," Niall says, and he laughs again, maybe trying to soften it, accidentally too vehement. "Just take what I can get instead, don't I?"

"Don't be deliberately cagey," Nick says, furrowing his brow, putting a hand reassuringly on Niall's knee. It feels right to touch him to be reassuring, considering the dressing room. Nick feels close to him now, the shivering tension of the unfolding conversation making him want contact as much as he wants to give it. "Say what you mean, hm?"

Niall bolts his drink. He's quiet a long moment, and everything begins to crystallise for Nick, Niall's feelings bubbling up and into the air around them before he even says anything. The longing that seeps out of Niall coalesces in the pit of Nick's stomach. "I'm just waiting 'til the day Harry doesn't want to see me on tour anymore. Like, you've got this thing sorted for the two of you and that's great but he's in love with you, Grim. What does that leave for me?"

"Enough, apparently, if what you've just said a moment ago is anything to go by."

"I talk a lot of shite. What I said a minute ago was that I can't help meself, though, and that bit's true."

"Wouldn't have pegged you for the pine-y, weepy sort, young Niall," Nick says, twisting at the front of his quiff idly. 

"You haven't pegged me at all. You're not really the sort who would need to," Niall says, miming a wanking motion, but it's a forced joke and Nick only cracks a perfunctory smile. Niall rubs his hands over his face a few times before gnawing at his cuticles. Nick slaps his hand away. 

"Quit that."

Niall sighs deeply. "Sorry. Nasty habit."

"So whatever happened to the happily single, carefree Niall who starred in all Harry's letters from the homefront?"

"He—" Niall starts, but then he just shrugs, shaking his head. "Nah, never mind. I don't know."

"C'mon now, how can we get you out of this little mopey rut?"

"Tough love?" Niall says, like it's the first thing to pop into his head.

"Mm, well. What I'm getting here is that you're secretly in love with Harry and hanging about with him on tour and letting him shag you then going home all on your lonesome because you're a bit of a sad act," Nick says as brightly as he can to offset the sting of it.

"That's about the shape of it," Niall says, but he laughs a bit and it doesn't sound quite so strained. Nick's heart beats faster, sympathetic and nervous at once, reliving the flood of coupled embarrassment and relief when he first realised he was stupidly, helplessly in love with Harry himself.

"Are Rochelle and Marvin not missing their little sex pet?" Nick asks, cheerfully trying on something different. He squeezes gently at Niall's thigh, but then he can't help remembering what it felt like to be inside him, the noises Niall made, how badly he wanted it. Niall blushes a bit and laughs again, and this time it's real, sweet. "Is it just Harry you'd want something more with? One on one, that's it? Or were you thinking…" he trails off, can't bring himself to say _or did you want me, as well?_

"Never thought about it before, if I'm honest," Niall says, and he sounds tired more than anything. Nick wants to tuck him in and make him a brew as much as he wants to fuck him 'til he cries. That's the first sign of being in too deep, is what that is. "You both got something so good going. And he'd been wanting it to work out for so long. I couldn't—you know, I couldn't fuck that up. Though you're both _legends_ in the sack, I'll tell you that. It'll be much harder now I've tried it out."

"I need another drink," Nick says, standing abruptly rather than process exactly what Niall's saying. He stretches his hand out to him, opening and closing it to beckon Niall to take it, to follow him.

Niall does, and his palm is lovely, his wrist barely there when Nick's fingers slide up to it. What Nick really wants in that moment is to suck on one of Niall's thumbs while he fucks his mouth and Harry fucks his arse and sucks the other one. Instead, he pulls him up and tows him down a hall or three to what he reckons will probably turn out to be an enormous chef's kitchen.

Sure enough, Simon has an impressive setup with granite countertops and far too many burners on the hob and all that. "Why are we here and not out at the bar," Niall says, astutely.

Nick makes a show of rooting around in the fridge, coming out with two lagers—something American he doesn't recognise or care about, frankly. "You're a bit of a twat, aren't you?" Nick asks, grinning.

"A bit," says Niall, grinning back. There's that inexorable pull in Nick's chest, and then they're kissing. He props his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of Niall's slight body, bracketing him. His mouth tastes cool and like beer and his lips are damp and pink from where he was biting at them. Nick kisses and kisses him, slipping him just enough tongue to make him heave a deep breath through his nose, chest pressing hungrily against Nick's.

"No, you're sweet," Nick says quietly, once he's pulled back, and he gives Niall a soft smile. "A good egg." He swallows back a curl of guilt that he can feel in his gut because Harry's not there with them. He's not scared and doesn't think Harry would be angry, really, but it still sits weirdly, doesn't feel quite right. He pats at Niall's hand and rubs over his knuckles with a thumb instead of pulling him back in, though Niall's tilted towards him, face turned up for another kiss. Niall sinks away slowly when he realises, and it curdles inside Nick, the way the smile wilts but doesn't disappear from Niall's face.

As Nick turns to go back out to the party, he can still feel Niall's eyes on him.

*

"I kissed Niall," Nick says. He pushes a Moon Juice smoothie into Harry's hands when he walks in the door and says it with that flippant tone he uses when he wants to get something off his chest and sweep it immediately under the rug. It pretty much never works.

"You did a lot more than kiss Niall, I think," Harry says with an easy smile. He sticks his tongue out to chase the straw of the smoothie, and Nick goes all gooey in that way he used to hate. 

"No I mean—we went to Simon's today and I lured him down into the bowels of the castle and had my way with him. Well, snogged him up against a kitchen counter for about three minutes, but—"

Harry laughs. "So glad you were counting." He slurps some of the smoothie and twirls away from Nick, slumping down on the couch. "If you're worried I'd be bothered, I'm not."

Nick lets out a slow, even breath through his pursed lips. "Oh."

"I think it's sexy, to be honest. You and Niall sneaking off to Uncle Simon's kitchens to have a bit of a fumble." After a pensive moment, he asks, "That doesn't fuck it up for you, does it?"

Nick knees onto the other side of the couch, sitting back on his heels. "'Course not. I didn't have a _scenario_ in mind or anything. I just—wanted to kiss him. In the moment."

"He gets a bit earnest sometimes, does Niall," says Harry with a sweet smile on his face, eyes twinkling. "Knows just how to make you want to eat him up."

Nick hums for a moment, turning over everything Niall said and weighing the pros and cons of spilling to Harry. "Do you know Niall's in love with you?" Nick asks. There was never really a question—of course he was going to tell him. "I assume you don't, because I can't imagine you letting him mope around pining and just taking what he can get from you."

Harry blanches, his worried face confirming just that. "I didn't—he never—did he tell you that? He said _I'm in love with Harry?_ " He says Niall's bit in a ridiculous little Irish accent, and it sounds suspiciously like Nick's Annie Mac impression.

"Bang on," Nick says with a shrug. "It was very sweet and a bit sad and boozy."

"Why?" Harry says, slow and thoughtful but with the divot in his brow and the wrinkles in his chin that mean he's teetering on the edge of something that's going to upset him far too much.

"I didn't plumb the depths, I'm afraid," Nick says softly, trying to keep it light but still be understanding.

"I hadn't—had no idea." He's looking up at the recessed light set into the ceiling, blinking. Nick can hear the scraping and sliding and rearranging of memories going on in Harry's head, can see him reexamining every interaction, tracing it back, trying to see when it started, what awful things he could've done without realising in the interim.

"Don't beat yourself up about it, love," Nick says, sitting properly on the couch and opening his arm up to beckon Harry to his side. Harry curls into him straight away, warm and gangly and smelling of outdoors and citrus shampoo. He presses his nose and lips to Nick's neck for a moment, and his mouth is cool from the smoothie.

Nick tucks a finger under Harry's chin and lifts, kissing him slowly, one kiss after the next, just the lazy slow play of lips that's always so good with Harry, so comforting, but with banked heat at the heart of it, ready to be fanned up. With Niall it's different, more crisp, like a hum of electricity instead, every twitch and clench telegraphed through Nick's whole body. It could be something that calms down over time into something safer, more familiar, or it could stay crackling and new no matter how many times they've done it—both would be wonderful.

"I keep thinking about Niall," Harry says all of a sudden, straight into Nick's mouth. Nick opens his eyes and Harry's staring back at him. He pulls away with a laugh.

"Me too," he says. "What do we do about it?"

"Well, when I'm with someone else and I think about you," Harry starts, a hand wrapped around one of Nick's forearms, "I call you."

"I could be wrong, but _we were making out and both thought of you!_ seems like an awkward phonecall to make," Nick says, draping a leg over Harry's lap and leaning sideways against the back of the couch.

"We could just ask him over."

Nick glances at the wall clock. "Bit late, in't it?" 

Harry shrugs. "Just makes it more clear what we're after. If he doesn't want to come round, he hasn't got to."

*

Niall does come round. It's gone midnight but Nick's looking out the window with a cup of coffee clutched in his hands anyway, like ye olde bride waiting for a soldier home from war. The headlights from Niall's Range Rover on the drive flood through the living room, and Nick smiles into his mug. Harry's making what smells like pancakes—the fluffy American sort—and Nick isn't the least bit hungry but it does make everything homey and nice.

He's wearing an apron when he lets Niall in, with a dishtowel draped over his shoulder like he's someone's dad doing the washing up. "Hi," he says, and Niall immediately looks over to Nick.

"You told him," he says, not angry but definitely not pleased, either. His eyebrows are almost in his hair.

Nick shrugs sheepishly. "Maybe. You must've known I would, though." Nick makes expansive arm gestures to shoo everyone into the kitchen. "It's the middle of the night and there's brekkie for dinner and everyone is very happy to see you, so I think it's all for the best, hm?"

"Is it?" Niall asks Harry, and his eyes are wide and clear and look very, very blue.

Harry just gathers him up into a hug, full-body and solid. Niall melts straight into it. "Yes, it is," Harry murmurs into Niall's shoulder. Niall hugs him back, arms tight around Harry's middle. Something settles inside Nick, slots into place.

After a moment, Niall yawns expansively. "Want coffee?" Harry asks with a laugh through his nose.

"Or bed," Nick says. Harry raises his eyebrows hopefully.

"Coffee first." Niall laughs. His cheeks are pink and his smile borders on bashful, though he looks them both in the eyes for a long moment.

Nick bustles around the kitchen, sorting out Niall's coffee, and Harry slides onto the counter, feet swinging under him, bumping occasionally into a bar stool. He's barefoot, legs long and tanned in his cutoffs. He's wearing Nick's favourite soft grey t-shirt, and Nick doesn't blame Niall one bit when he sidles up to Harry and puts his forehead against the rolled-up sleeve of it, rubbing his face on the cotton like a kitten. 

Harry runs a hand through Niall's hair, scritching gently, the soft shurring of his fingers the only sound besides the occasional sputtering of the espresso machine. "Cream and sugar, I'm guessing?" Nick asks; Niall nods. As he's pouring, Nick feels particularly domestic, comfortable. Like he has it sorted out. 

They orbit around each other like that for a bit, the three of them quiet and oddly comfortable, like it's the most normal thing in the world to find them all soft and relaxed and sun-tired together after a long day in the LA heat.

Nick heads to bed first. "Well, you know where to find me," he says, hands already at the buttons of his shirt as he backs down the hall. He's got a salacious grin on, and he waggles his eyebrows. Harry and Niall look back at him and roll their eyes in tandem, little smiles crooking in the corners of their mouths like they've been pressed from the same mould.

In the dark of Harry's room, Nick's not completely certain what's going to end up happening tonight. The mystery is a thrill instead of an anxiety, and he feels good knowing Harry's out there with Niall. Maybe they'll talk in hushed tones about what happened today, or what's going to happen. They're both thinking about him, somewhere out there in pleasant, open spaces of the house.

Nick washes his face and moisturises using Harry's La Mer. He strips down to pants and stares at his legs in the mirror for bit while debating whether he should put something else on. He decides on pyjamas, at least to start with—he has a nice new pair of D&G ones that are silky and lush. He's planning on wearing the top with trousers and a chelsea boot out and about sometime.

He's tucked under the covers by the time Harry and Niall trail in, Harry looking self-satisfied and Niall biting absently at a nail and stroking at his own sideburns in turn. "What's got you all twisted up, little Niall?" Nick asks, belly soft with how distant Niall's eyes look, his downturned mouth.

"Nothing," Niall says, shrugging with stiff shoulders. 

"It's not nothing," Harry says sweetly as he sheds his clothes, just leaving on his alarmingly fucsia briefs. He pats the space next to himself on the bed, whole body inviting. "You were fine not two minutes ago."

Niall fumbles out of his jeans but leaves on his black t-shirt, the hem of it skimming his white Calvin Klein boxer-briefs which are just a bit too big for his tiny bum. He clambers onto the bed next to Harry and sits cross-legged, back bent in a way that makes him look vulnerable and young. Nick reaches out to stroke at his hair, brushing a thumb over his barely-stubbled jaw. "You're the expert here, really," Nick says, trying to be reassuring. "How do you tend to conduct business? With three."

"Well, you know, there's always them, and then there's me. No muss no fuss, do as I'm told, and everyone ends up having a nice time. Simple as." He's got his arms crossed in front of himself, looking closed off. Nick sits up and scoots closer, gently prying Niall's hands out from under his pits, opening him up.

"Is that why you're all stoppered up? Think it's going to be us versus you?" Nick asks, tugging until Niall's lying down between him and Harry in the big bed, fluffy white duvet puffed out all around him. Harry scooches down as well, the three of them tucked close together on their sides.

"I don't have much to go on," Niall says, voice half muffled by the pillow and what is probably a mouthful of Harry's hair. "It was a bit two-against-one last time. Fucking unbelievably amazing, but—you know."

Harry laughs, and it's the sleepy laugh that means he's not going to be good for much else tonight. Nick rubs over Niall's side and noses at his neck before rolling onto his back, not wanting to crowd Niall. "Maybe we all ought to just have a good, refreshing eight hours, then," he says, letting his eyes flutter shut as Harry swats at his bedside lamp. "Not get too fancy with it tonight."

"I'm asleep already," Harry mumbles, and Nick doesn't doubt it. To Nick's great joy, Niall immediately wiggles around and takes on the role of big spoon to Harry's little spoon, leaving Nick free to breathe easy and not at all sweaty and close—his worst thing. He falls asleep comfortable and pleased, arm brushing gently against Niall's back.

*

Nick wakes up before Harry in the morning, confused at first by the slight body pressed into the curve of his side before he remembers falling asleep with Niall curled up in the middle of the bed. Niall stirs not long after, peering over his shoulder with sleep-puffy eyes at Nick. Nick just shrugs and smiles, not even sorry that he's been gazing at the two of them like a besotted fool. "You make quite a lovely picture, can't blame me for enjoying it."

Harry's alarm doesn't go off this morning, thankfully, but Nick's is just about to when he remembers to turn it off. "Leaving us?" Niall asks, voice groggy but sweet. 

"I've got meetings today," Nick says, pulling himself out of bed like it's made of iron and his arse is a solid magnet. Niall wriggles over into the warm spot and tucks the extra duvet up under his chin, hair fluffy and soft on the pillow. Harry lists closer to him even in his sleep, humming discontentedly at the loss. 

Nick half hopes that someone will come and join him in the shower, but he gets all the way through rinsing out his conditioner without even a peep from Harry's room. He gets dressed in the guest room in order to make less noise and also steal some of Harry's clothes—still nothing. 

It isn't until he's fussing around looking for coffee in the kitchen that there are signs of life, Harry and Niall both shuffling in wearing their pants and nothing else. They look bleary but unfairly hot. It seems significant, the palpable glances they give him, the funny way it doesn't feel funny at all. They bump shoulders, comfortable in each other's space, before Harry comes around to where Nick's balancing on tiptoes rifling through cupboards.

"Let me," Harry says, kissing Nick awkwardly but tenderly on the ear. "Have a seat with Niall and I'll make us some bacon sandwiches and coffee, shall I?"

"Oh, yes please," Niall says in a put-on posh accent, clapping with just his palms and swinging his feet under his bar stool. 

"Go on, then." Nick hops up on the stool next to Niall, and after a moment, Niall lets his head droop onto Nick's shoulder.

"Alright?" Niall says quietly. It sounds like he's asking permission, a little bit of last night's tension creeping back in and wrapping around him. Nick threads his fingers through Niall's fringe, combing at it gently. He lets his hand stray down to the nape of Niall's neck, rubbing at his tight muscles until he relaxes again.

"'Course you're alright," Nick murmurs, and Harry looks over his shoulder, somber but giving a pleased nod. Niall sighs, a happy sound, like he's breathing out the clinging remnants of anxiety.

"So what will you wayward youths be getting up to while I'm out bringing home the—bacon?" Nick asks, waving the packet of streaky bacon Harry plonked on the counter to punctuate his sentence.

"We're going out to The Riviera for golf," Niall says, straightening up, excitement crackling through him. "Harry says he can get us in and I've been dying to go for fucking years." 

"You should meet us there later," Harry says, clearly pleased to be able to offer something so desirable to Niall, his joy infectious.

"You don't have to play, I promise," Niall says, reaching over to snatch a piece of bacon straight from the pan.

"I'll be your cheerleader," Nick says, dipping in to kiss them once each. He can't help the big silly grin that comes over him afterwards. "Go team."

*

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Weathered by Jack Garratt.


End file.
